Running
by Prentiss-be-mine
Summary: Morgan finds himself treating an overly submissive Emily like crap. Why does he do it? Better yet, why does she let him do it? M for dark themes and smut


**A/N: This idea came to mind out of nowhere. Literally when I was playing handball. So...tell me what you think.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Criminal Minds cast. Wish I owned Prentiss for a night...**

Morgan stirred out of sleep, naked, with a rambunctious pound in his head as he rose to a sitting position; immediately regretted it when the pain came more like a tidal wave rather than a thud. It was all a blur, the night before, the case, the _girls _he was with; all of it a big fog and the inundating sunlight wasn't making it any easier.

He groaned at the undiscovered ache in his lower back when he made a wrong turn from a stretch. That's what he got for partying like the frat boy he was in college, when he knew _damn well _that he was pushing _forty_ in a few months. Fuck, he was _too_ old for this shit! Too old to allow deep-rooted memories to affect his life decisions, like a prepubescent teenager. He was just too fucking old!

A turn of a doorknob stilled his unconscious scolding, and years of vigilant training from the F.B.I. made his eyes vigorously scan the room for the source of the faint noise. He made a small sigh when the bathroom door open with two brunettes, of average height and built, walking out of it. They both were clad in something short and tight, cheap in fabric. They couldn't be older than twenty-one and _that_ was pushing it.

"We gotta go Derek," one of them said, with a vague distant voice.

With a slight squint of the eyes, which he immediately regretted when his headache reminded him that it was there and did _not _want to be ignored, he thought he would be able to pin-point the location he was at last night, but clearly he was wrong. He didn't even have a _clue_ on what either of their names were. But what he _certainly_ had was shame and revulsion for the fact that this was the _third_ time he put himself in this predicament, this week.

When the incentive to figure out the identities of the women faded, he grumbled out a "sure" as he gingerly climbed, and unenthusiastically, out of bed, bitterly snorting at the women's flustered faces and their _new _foundfocus. Women- or should he say _girls_, could be so immature when it came to the anatomy of the opposite sex. He didn't know which was more pathetic: the giggling girls- who touched and fondled everything on him, or the fact that this seemed to be the only source of affection he's attracted to- or he should say, _drawn _to, the past couple months.

_Alec, I'll have the 'pathetic F.B.I. agent' for a hundred._

"Nothin' to see ladies," he groused as he trudged his way to the master bathroom. He also told them that they could make coffee if they liked, but it was unlikely that it was heard through the closed door. _Good_; the half-hearted gesture was just common curtsey, because he really wanted to spend his day off in solitude.

He took a quick shower- though he had the endless time to indulge in a thorough bath; his internal alert alarm clock was always in play for him to be showered, clothed, _and_ at the office in forty-five minutes. The warm water helped his rock-smashing hangover a bit, but it was definitely still there; just not as keen and apparent as before.

Coiled with a black terrycloth towel around the waist, he walked out the bathroom and quickly got dressed. As he threw a white v-neck on, the faint ring-tone bell chimes branched from his nightstand. He must've abated the volume in preparation of the inevitably head-thumping morning. _Smart man_. Glancing at the caller id he made a sigh at the name that flashed up, J.J., because he knew the only time he saw the two twin characters were when there was a case- regardless of his day off.

"Yes Princess," he said in plastering happiness. It was easier to veil his self-condemnation with the media liaison, since she wasn't technically a profiler, and she didn't have the textbook knowledge to pick up small, but peculiar, behavior. Then there was the second option that no one gave a shit because, out of three profilers, not a single one asked if he was okay, or a simple "I'm there for you" in the past few months.

"Morgan, Emily has been calling you none stop and she was worried. But from what I can hear, you sound alright."

_Define the word, alright, and you can see I am out of context. _He snorted at the thought.

"Is…are you okay?" The slightly southern tone was wary.

"You picked the wrong time to care" was the initial response to her question, but he decided with a more cordial "Sure. Is there a case I-"

"Oh…no. I just wanted to make sure you were okay because Emily seems to think that you're upset with her." Her voice trailed; prompting in for an obvious secret. But he wasn't going to let her in that easily, so he replied coolly "Prentiss is a big girl; if she thinks we have an issue, she knows she can always come to me." But she wouldn't because… who would want to confide in Derek Morgan?

"O-Okay," she stammered, obviously catching the deflection. "I'll give her the message." She paused for another minute; Morgan sensed it was because she was nervous and she unconsciously bit her lip when she was. "Morgan…" she finally said quietly, catching her confidence.

"Yes doll-face?" he made a small smirk. He hadn't realized how flirty he sounded but he figured out that his psyche radiated sex appeal when he was in pain.

"Take care of yourself," she said gently, apparently ignoring his fail attempt to loosen the unspoken tension.

Morgan put his head down, whispering "sure" before he heard a dial tone.

He hated when she did that, made him feel so low with her doll-face pout, and her ingenuous tone. Why couldn't she leave him alone, like everyone else did? He let the thought subside when he felt the clattering sound of his phone vibrating in his hand. Looking at the caller id he made a quick sigh and put the phone to his ear.

"Hey Prentiss." She was another one who couldn't leave him alone, with her big doe eyes that screamed concern when she gazed at him. With her it was worst because she was pathetically attached to him, when he blatantly turned her down every time. At least J.J knew her limits and where to back off, but Prentiss? If he didn't know that she graduated from Yale he would think she was a total masochistic dingbat, though that was irrelevant because her spot could have been bought by her powerful parents.

"Hey," she replied in that soft, deep tone of hers. And it did not help that she was pleasing to the eye, and sounded sexy as fuck over the phone.

"How's it goin'?" He asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

"Oh…I'm fine. Hotch gave me the day off and I'm just so…restless, ya know?" Derek scrunched his face up; ignoring the sharp pain it gave his brain, as he tried to detect the profiler's peculiar tone of voice. It was soft, yet mysterious; direct, somehow eerie. That's what his partner always did to him: get him so fucking confused.

When getting a problem solved at work he profiled; looks like he'll have to do the same with Emily.

"Yeah, I know. At first I was thrilled to have the day to myself but now…I just don't know what to do." He threw the bait at her, making her seem like she had the control to grasp what she _really_ wanted.

"Yeah," she said in a low chuckle. "When I get this bored I tend to…" she chuckled some more only this time in a dismissive manner "… never mind."

Is she…she couldn't be trying to play the same game as he was; on _Derek Morgan?_ If he didn't think she was stupid before, he sure thought now. But he digressed and played into 'her' little taunt.

"What Princess?" he smirked, suddenly finding his headache to be a bit cooperative to his feelings. "You know you wanna tell me," he taunted back.

"Oh you know…" she said in what seemed like a bit of a purr. Was she…_flirting? "_I tend to do…drastic things so I could get… _not_ bored.

"Is that so?" he asked his voice getting just as low, and with a finger through a knot, his towel was free from his naked bottom half and he encircled his erect shaft with his hand. "Why don't you tell me what you do when you're bored."

He couldn't help it; he always had a thing for the profiler's voice.

There was a pause, a silent tone that brought him back to his senses and made him wonder if he took their subtle flirting too far, but then that deep chuckle was back in the dial tone, and he made a small smile with his gorgeous lips.

"Well… I could show you better than I could tell you," she cooed.

"How about this princess? You tell me a little, and then you could _show_ me more, afterward."

"Sounds like a plan," she purred, as he heard some shifting through the other end, probably doing what he was initiating himself.

"First I...take a long, leisured bath, scrubbing every muscle…every bit of my naked body…"

Derek stroked his healthy cock in his hand as he leaned back further into his pillow, tinting his brown eyes a bit to think of the lustful image.

"What else baby girl?" he groaned, turning his cock into his hand, beginning to rotate his hips to a slow, teasing rhythm.

Another murmured chuckle was made as he heard a hitch in breathe, and the thought of Emily doing what he _knew _she was doing, made him groan a little louder, making it apparent over the phone.

"I…lather my body with soap…over my back…up my shoulders…down my tits-"

"Shit baby," he groaned as he put the phone on speaker and then on the nightstand, and took his free hand to massage his balls.

"Oh…I stay down there…circling around my nipples till they get so erect…so perky…and I begin to rub-oh" she moaned in the phone, making the profiler mirror the action on the other end.

"I massage one my swelled tits, still rubbing my pretty little nipple, and trail my other hand down my toned stomach and…I go further and further until I hit that-"

"Oh," he grunted, pumping faster, massaging a bit harder, panting harshly into the air.

"Yes baby," she said in a breath of lust. "I go down and touch my plump little pussy," he growled at her crude language, "feel my wetness for you…feel how much I want you inside me…"

Never had their flirting and innuendos gotten this far, and this could seriously damage their friendship and partnership, but his _other _head didn't think of the future. All he knew was that he couldn't wait for Emily to finish so he could _experience_ the matter in the flesh; hot steamy, _moist_ flesh. The thought of it made his pre-cum flush out of his head, and made him moan at the hot liquid on his hypersensitive nerves.

"I go back up…and I flick my thick clit with my fingers, moaning, oh god Derek," she growled into the phone as he heard a faint buzzing in the intercom. "as I wiggle it a little…I throw my h-hips in the air, thinking of your big fingers doing it for me…to me…"

Now he was thinking of the small little nub, augmenting as she moaned to his touch, egging her closer to the edge. He felt like he was going the same path.

"Then…fuck," she swore, her deep voice growing hot and heavy over the intercom, signaling her climax was arriving soon. "Then your fingers twirls into my little pussy-"

"Yeah baby," he grunted, smearing more of his arousal on his head as his thumb swiped across it a few times, taunting to let lose all over his new bedspread.

"Yeah…_oh…_your fingers are taunting me and that sexy fucking smirk you have just…oh god!" Now her voice squeaked into a whimpering squeak as her breaths were as harsh as ever, making the white appear in behind his eyes. But he held in some more control, pumped a bit slower, wanting to last longer, and come _with_ her.

"And I scream your name as you…you finally shove that dick in me," the both of them growled to hold back their desperate need for each other. "Fuck oh god, you're stretching me…making it hurt just a little as you mercilessly pump in and out…my tits dangling in the air…"

Derek clenched his jaw, as he tried to maintain the control but the scale of temptation and release was beginning to weigh out the willpower.

"I'm screaming your name as you dig your nails into my hips and…and shove to that spot…oh god…oh god Derek fuck me!" A harsh, deep groan spat through the intercom, and Derek knew she was finished by the length of it and how desperate it sounded.

And with that, hot liquid of white spewed out his already lust-coated head, and trialed down his shaft and thighs as he grunted the profiler's name between his teeth. He sat there for a long moment, savoring in his mist of euphoria he felt until it dawned on him; _you just came to your partner's voice._

Derek went into his drawer and took out a napkin to clean himself up before he tossed the balled up paper on the nightstand. Oh god, what did he just do? He just did the apex of inappropriateness, the inevitable path of abashment for one another that will lead to the destructible path of failure for their careers. Even worse; what if Hotch find out? Or better yet, would he signal that something was wrong by the change in their behaviors? Either of the two were equally horrifying.

He sat for minutes that turned into tens, twenties, and before he knew it a few hours passed by of everything; last night, the alcohol, the depression, the turmoil, everything. And the last memory, his big-eyed partner doing god knows what through the phone, her voice, the submission, the confusion he had for her reasoning, he thought before a slight knock from his bedroom door startled him.

_"You're a fucking idiot…"_

****Tell me what you think? Stay? Go? Will only continue with reviews.****


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